Defining Perfection
by Heeroluva
Summary: Mycroft's relationship with Lestrade is certainly not perfect and is far from normal, but it works for them. Mycroft/Lestrade


Mycroft's relationship with Lestrade was certainly not perfect and was far from normal, but if there was one thing that Mycroft had learned after all his years working for the British government, it was that normalcy was overrated. You took happiness where you could, and damn what the rest of the world thought.

Mycroft had just scoffed the one time that Lestrade had asked him if he thought it strange, their relationship. Of course it was in the eyes of society. As accepting and forward thinking as the general public had become in modern times, the idea of two men in a relationship that was more than platonic but did not contain sex was hard for many to grasp. However, Mycroft neither cared what others thought or felt the need to share his relationship with them.

In a society so obsessed with sex, Mycroft had struggled with his lack of interest when he was younger, his parents sending him to a series of doctors and psychiatrists before it was deemed that there was nothing mentally or physically wrong with him. When his peers had begun to notice the opposite sex, Mycroft had preferred to spend his time being productive instead of wasting his time on trivialities such as relationships that would be over in a flash. He'd tried it, of course, in his twenties a half dozen times, but he'd never understood the need or desire for a partner that added unnecessary complication to a mere biological response that he could easily take care of himself when the need arose. It was also less messy that way.

The soft pad of bare feet on the hardwood floor pulled Mycroft from his musing, and he turned to take in the bare chest of a sleep-tousled Lestrade.

Lestrade plucked the long forgotten papers from Mycroft's hands and settled himself against Mycroft's side, half sprawled across his lap, in a chair that clearly wasn't meant to hold two grown men but evidently didn't deter Lestrade at all. "I thought we'd agreed to no more of this," Lestrade said near Mycroft's ear as he settled his head in the crook of Mycroft's neck.

Wrapping his arm around Lestrade's side, he rested his hand flat against his abdomen, relaxing as the heat Lestrade always seemed to emit settled over him. "I recall no such accord. You demanded, and I remained silent on the matter."

An unexpected nip to his neck had Mycroft gasping in shock and looking down into Lestrade's amused face. "Your silence is an agreement. Don't change that on me now. So how about you tell me what has you so wound up tonight that you can't sleep."

For a moment, Mycroft remained silent, debating his words, and it was enough time for the smile to fall from Lestrade's face. He could easily see where his thoughts were headed. "Don't. If I ever held any misgivings about our relationship, I would not hesitate to mention them. As I do not, there is no reason for you to fret so."

His words did not prevent the frown from stretching across Lestrade's face, and Mycroft wondered for the umpteenth time at the power one person could have on another in the name of love and at the damage they could do. Mycroft forced himself not to think about ways to dispatch of Lestrade's ex-wife for hurting him so much that he doubted himself even years later.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you. There was nothing in particular that has impeded my sleep, and I thought to get a head start on tomorrow's—" glancing at the clock, Mycroft amended "—today's paperwork. I must admit that I did allow myself to get lost in thought."

The frown slowly faded from Lestrade's face as his expression relaxed, though his eyes were still searching.

Mycroft twined the fingers of one hand through Lestrade's and rested it back against his stomach. "I have come to realize that perhaps there is something that I said or did that implied that the subject of our relationship was taboo, but I wanted to ensure you that that is not the case. I must admit that it is not a subject that I am used to speaking of; however, I am not disinclined to do so if you desire."

With an explosive burst of laughter, Lestrade rose and placed a quick kiss on Mycroft's startled mouth. "Mycroft Holmes, patron saint of silence, and avoidance of all things personal has agreed to talk." He paused, giving Mycroft a slightly suspicious look. "Are you certain you're not sick?"

Mycroft just raised a brow at that, unsure how to respond, and Lestrade suddenly became serious.

"Sometimes I feel that this isn't fair to you, that I'm getting more out of this for you."

It was Mycroft's turn to snort. "I hadn't realized relationships were based on equal exchange. I'm happy with you, happier than I've ever been—" Lestrade's hand tightened over his "—and you seem to be happy also."

Brow furled, Lestrade replied, "Very much so, but the times—"

"Time," Mycroft corrected.

"What?"

"Time, singular. It was one time, after which you were incredibly guilty despite my permission and blessing." Mycroft truly hadn't minded. Lestrade's sex drive may have been low, but it was still there. Mycroft had offered, but Lestrade hadn't been comfortable with the idea of him not being interested. However, Mycroft wasn't so sure the outcome was worth it. A little guilt on Lestrade's part over Mycroft's participation was certainly better than the cloud of guilt that had surrounded him for weeks after.

Lestrade sighed, burying his face in Mycroft's neck again. "I can't do that again, not with you here. I know you have no interest, but I can't help but feel like I'm keeping a part of myself from you."

"It's not different than me keeping my work from you," Mycroft stated, knowing full well that Lestrade really didn't want to know what he did. It was part of what had initially attracted Mycroft to him.

"That's different," Lestrade protested.

"Is it really? Why must sex matter so much? Do we not enjoy an intimate relationship without it? Are you disappointed by my lack of interest?" Mycroft hadn't meant to ask that, not like that, and wasn't sure he really wanted the answer, but he was the one that opened the door on the subject and he would see it through.

"Truthfully?" Lestrade asked rhetorically before continuing. "Sometimes. I know it's not personal, but it's a pride thing. For most people, I think it's normal for someone to want the person they love to find them attractive."

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest that he found Lestrade exceedingly handsome, but Lestrade corrected himself.

"Sexually attractive. But I gave up normalcy when we started this relationship, and I'm okay with that. Really. I've been friends with my left hand for a long time now, and that's not going to change. And maybe someday I'll take you up on your offer. This isn't a relationship that I expected to be in, but I don't regret it. Not once. I might get frustrated at times, but don't you ever think that it affects how I feel about you." When Lestrade finished, his face was flushed and his eyes bright.

"Gregory," he began, but trailed off. Mycroft wasn't really sure why, but his heart was suddenly racing, and he was at a loss of words. It never failed to astound him how this man could affect him in such a way, him, Mycroft Holmes, master of word games who always had the last word.

But Lestrade seemed to understand and was suddenly on his feet, tugging Mycroft to his own. "Come on. Let's get to bed. It's far too late for this."

Later, when Lestrade was pressed again Mycroft, chest to his back, Lestrade's arm thrown over him and their legs tangled in a way that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't, Mycroft was hit with the sudden awareness that he loved this man. All the signs were there, had been for some time, but Mycroft hadn't been able to see it in himself, not until he realized that Lestrade already knew, likely had for some time.

Surrounded as he was by the furnace that was Lestrade, Mycroft was too hot, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The sudden recognition that came with the knowledge was strange, as was the lightness of his metaphorical heart when he thought of Lestrade. Maybe this wasn't the definition of perfection for most people, but it wouldn't be the first time that Mycroft had rewritten the dictionary to suit his needs.


End file.
